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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260582">The Sweetest Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic'>fictive_frolic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:14:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky really has a sweet tooth. And you're the perfect thing to take care of his cravings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky hated fancy parties. </p><p>He hadn’t really fit into them in his time, and he really didn’t now. He didn’t know anyone except for the Avengers, and they all seemed to know someone. Or be dating someone. </p><p>So he stood well off to the side and wallowed. Sipping champagne that didn’t make him feel drunk and just waiting for there to have been enough time passed that he could leave and no one pout at him.</p><p>He was lost in thought when he first heard it. The distinctive click of a woman limping while she walked in heels. So it took him a moment to tune in when he heard, but with he did, he smiled just a little. Some things hadn’t changed that much, there were some kinds of girls that weren’t cut out for high heels and dresses, and the woman sitting on the bench after stumbling into the garden was clearly one of these.</p><p>Somehow, her hair was already falling down, and she looked like she’d rather be doing almost anything else. Not unpleasant, just. Distracted. Bucky stepped a little closer to you of the shadows, coughing slightly to announce his presence, and she jumped. Not that he hadn’t expected that, but he figured startling her a little now meant not being creepy. </p><p>“You okay?” he asked, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. </p><p>“Fine,” she answers with a smile, “Just beyond tired of networking… I appreciate Stark dropping me the invite after my bakery made the cake, but I don’t think he understands how early I have to get up.”</p><p>Bucky can feel the gears firing in his brain. Now he remembers her. He’d just seen her earlier in an apron and jeans instead of a dress and heels. “Oh,” he said, grinning, “So you’re Y/N, the baker everyone raves about.”</p><p>“I dunno about Raves,” you say modestly, “But Mr. Stark certainly likes my cakes.”</p><p>“May I?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the bench next to you, and you nod, hastily moving your shoes to allow him to sit down. He takes the seat and smiles a little.</p><p>“Tony isn’t the only one that likes your cakes. We all do, really… Pretty sure they’re the only reason some of the team shows up.” Bucky preens a little when you look down shyly and smiles.</p><p>“What about you?” you ask, looking up. Eyes teasing him gently.</p><p>“Oh, they’re definitely the only reason I show up,” he said, grinning, “Whatever you did with this one was amazing. How’d you get it to taste like that?”</p><p>“It took some time,” you allow. “I have to play with a few recipes.”</p><p>“It was worth it, whatever you did,” he said, “Seriously. You do some amazing stuff.”</p><p>“Not too shabby for starting in my Grandma’s kitchen when I was 12,” you tell him, a note of pride in your voice.</p><p>Bucky decided then that he liked you. Smart. Business Savvy. Cute as a button. He liked you a lot. He whistled softly, earning him another shy smile that made his heart flutter. “You got a shop now?”</p><p>You smile, “Yeah,” you tell him smiling. We have 3 brick and mortar shops now. Two in New York and One in Jersey.”</p><p>“That’s a long way from your grandma’s kitchen, alright.”</p><p>You nod, “Went to culinary school to give myself a little bit of a pedigree, and we started making event cakes… I wound up on Stark’s radar, and that was all she wrote.”</p><p>“How’d that happen?” he asked.</p><p>“I’m not really sure. I think he’d crashed and failed flirting with his other baker, so Pepper had to do some digging.”</p><p>Bucky snorted, “I could see it.”</p><p>You stifle a yawn and smile a little, “I’d better get going. I’ve got to be in Jersey tomorrow early. We’ve got a truly obnoxious sweet 16 cake for tomorrow. On top of all the stuff for the bakery case.”</p><p>“See you around?” Bucky asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.</p><p>“I’m sure Tony’ll throw another party eventually,” you answer, teasing glittering in your eyes. </p><p>Bucky sips his champagne and watches you go, carrying your shoes. For the first time in a long time, he feels like himself.</p><p>_________________</p><p>It didn’t take long for Bucky to find the name of the bakery. It was Cute. A red brick storefront with sunflowers painted on it and an Awning with the name Ladybug Lane Bakery written in it. </p><p>“Cute,” he chuckled. </p><p>It looked like a bakery out of a children’s story and specialized in cake and cookies. He strolled across the street and opened the door, a bell above his head ringing pleasantly above his head. He took a second to look around. There were tables with mismatched kitchen chairs and cushions. Napkins on each table and a small self serve bar with house blends of tea and lemonade. Not a soda is sight. The walls were painted with a mellow, sunny yellow and the windows accented with a soft sky blue… It felt like walking into a home. Pleasant and cozy despite it being spotlessly clean and clearly a commercial business. He liked it. And he wondered if you were in today or at one of your other shops. </p><p>He strolled towards the counter and smiled at the girl behind the counter, “Hey, do you know if Y/N is here?”</p><p>“Yeah,” the girl said looking up at him from under her baseball cap, “She’s working on a cake right now.”</p><p>“Oh,” Bucky said feeling a little crestfallen. “Could you tell her I stopped by?” he asked.</p><p>“I mean I can go get her,” the girl said looking confused, looking over her shoulder through the door to the kitchen.</p><p>“Could you please?” he sighs. Kids these days, man.</p><p>She nods and hops off the stool, “Aunt Y/N!” she yells through the door, “Someone wants to talk to you!”</p><p>There’s a clatter of tools being set down and a sigh, “Sara please don’t shout. It’s not that loud back here.”</p><p>There’s the sound of footsteps on the concrete and the girl scurries out of the way to let you through the door. You have flour and batter on your apron and a smear of green food color on your cheek. Black t-shirt, Jeans, a pair of converse. Hair hastily thrown up in a ponytail. Bucky likes that took. It looks right on you as you strip off the gloves you’re wearing and look up to see him.</p><p>“Mr. Barnes,” you say, grinning, “needed to feed your sweet tooth, huh?”</p><p>“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good icing,” he answered.</p><p>“Well,” you tell him, going to stand behind the pastry case,” what can I get you?”</p><p>He wants to say “you. Just a nibble.” But your niece is listening and there are customers. And he doesn’t even know if you’re interested. So he says, “Can we start with your number?”</p><p>“What kind of pastry is that?” you ask innocently, playing dumb. And as his cheeks heat, and you giggle, he decides that you’re a brat. A major brat. And he likes that took.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky sat at the table and watched you close up shop, putting money and receipts into a bank bag and rounding up day-old pastry and putting them into boxes neatly. </p><p>“What are you doin’ with those, doll?” Bucky asked, curious. </p><p>“Donating them,” you say simply, “There are a few missions around here, so I box them up. There’s no sense in throwing out pastry that’s still perfectly good. Or letting people go without eating said pastry.”</p><p>Bucky smiled, “That’s cool.”</p><p>“Sara gave me the idea,” you say fondly. The little girl, Bucky had learned, was one of seven nieces and nephews. And your Lieutenant. Your second in command when she was in the shop. “She read a newspaper article or something about all the food that gets thrown away every day and asked if we could give away the pastry at the end of the night.”</p><p>“Smart kid,” Bucky said, taking a sip from the water you’d handed him earlier. </p><p>“The kids are alright,” you agree.</p><p>You tuck things aside for your accountant and make sure you have all the stuff locked down and put away. Before taking the pastry boxes to the people who were coming to the door to collect them.</p><p>“Thanks, Y/N!” they say, clasping your hand, “The kids love the cookies.”</p><p>“I might have made a few more than I needed this morning,” you tell them winking. </p><p>There’s laughter, and the guys give you a wave as they load the boxes into a car as if they’re made of glass.</p><p>“So,” Bucky mused, watching you lock the doors, “got any plans tonight?”</p><p>“Going home and getting cleaned up. Then having a couple glasses of wine and passing the fuck out and being thankful I don’t have to do the early morning shit anymore,” you answer.</p><p>“Want some company?” he asks, giving you a crooked smile that served him so well when he’d had a pretty dame he wanted to take out before. </p><p>“Maybe,” you mused, “Depends on what you have in mind.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, smirking, “How about you drink some wine and tell me all about cake. And I enjoy watching a pretty girl drink wine and tell me about cake.”</p><p>“I can do you one better than that,” you tell him, smiling. </p><p>“Oh?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.</p><p>“I’ll get wine drunk and bake you a cake,” you tell him.</p><p>“Oh, I see,” he said, grinning, “pandering to my lust for pretty girls and my sweet tooth. A solid plan.”</p><p>___________</p><p>And that’s how Bucky found himself in your kitchen, sitting on a counter and listening to you lecture him on the perfect consistency of cake batter and how to keep buttercream from curdling. He kept refilling your wine glass and just soaked it in. </p><p>It was passion. A passion that was quiet and determined. The smell of baking cake and lovingly crafted icing called him back to a time long before HYDRA or SHIELD. It reminded him of his little sisters learning to bake and using he and Steve as Guinea Pigs for their concoctions, not all of them edible. </p><p>This one was definitely going to be edible, though. There was a smell of ginger and lemon and cinnamon and a bunch of other things he couldn’t define. He couldn’t describe them, but they smelled like magic. Antique. If Sepia tone had a scent, that was what it would smell like, and it was, somehow, what he needed. </p><p>He watches you hum to yourself as you mix and painstakingly combine ingredients to make a filling and some icing and smiles a little. He can’t help it. If this is a date, this is the longest he’s ever gone through a date without getting a little bit of a cuddle. And he really does feel a bit bad about making you work for his entertainment. </p><p>So he comes and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you, lacing his fingers together over your stomach. </p><p>“Hey,” you murmur, turning your head briefly to press a kiss against his bicep. </p><p>“Hey, baby girl,” he chuckles. You’re warm and deliciously soft. Inviting. And he’d really like a taste, but he knows that once he starts, he won’t stop. And he also knows that if he makes you burn his cakes, you’re going to be irritated at him. </p><p>He loosens his grip to give you more room to work and presses a soft little kiss against the back of your neck, “Would you be mad at me if I told you I want a taste of more than just your cake?”</p><p>You half turn and smile up at him, tipsy and on the verge of giggles, “No.”</p><p>Bucky can literally feel himself go to putty in your hands and cradles your jaw in his metal hand, “May I?” he asks softly.</p><p>“Please?” you ask softly. His lips look perfect. And you have a soft spot for beard burn and blue eyes. You need to know if he tastes as good as he looks.</p><p>“Oh,” he breathed, leaning in slowly, “Sweetheart, you don’t know how pretty that sounds to me.” But he doesn’t waste any time, kissing you gently, savoring the sweet taste of wine on your lips, and picking you up carefully to set you on the spot of the counter he had vacated.</p><p>When he comes up for air, your cheeks are burning from more than just the wine, and you smile at him, “Not bad for a fossil,” you tease.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says, chucking you under the chin. He was about to say more, but your eyes went wide, and you jumped off the counter, narrowly missing his foot.</p><p>“My cakes!” you gasp, “Fuck-”</p><p>You open the oven quickly, fumbling for hot pads, and Bucky nudges you out of the way gently, lifting the pan that had individual cakes baking on it using his metal hand. </p><p>You look like you could cry, and Bucky sets the pan down carefully, “Baby, it’s okay.”</p><p>“But, I promised you a cake.”</p><p>“And then I distracted you,” Bucky pointed out, chuckling. “Besides. They aren’t burnt... just a little crispy.”</p><p>Your lip trembles and Bucky chuckles, “Oh no, you’re a weepy drunk, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Only when I burn cakes,” you protest, stomping your foot.</p><p>“Then I’ll just eat the icing,” he says, grinning, “And maybe nibble on you.”</p><p>“Just a nibble?” you ask raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Maybe more than a nibble,” he said pulling you against him gently and tangling his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to kiss a line down your throat that makes you whimper. “Good girl,” he praises, “My good girl.” He doesn’t know what it is really that makes a girl melt when he says that but he’d happy to see it work on you. And even more happy to see you’d forgotten all about the burnt cake on the counter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky watched the rise and fall of your back in the moonlight, it had been fun. Giggly and a little fumbling. What the first time with a girl like you should be, he decided.</p><p>He nodded and tucked the blanket up over your back, smiling a little as you snuggle closer to his warmth in your sleep. Sweet. Innocent. Untroubled sleep. He likes this. He likes it a lot. It feels like a dream that died sometime in the 40′s. He wasn’t sure if it was before he had a metal arm or after. Before the torture or during. But it had. And, for a moment. Like a myoclonic jerk, it brought him up short and sent a dart of adrenaline through his chest.</p><p>And then a cold, rushing wave of fear that left him regretting ever walking out on to that balcony. </p><p>You were a baker. A sweet girl with a cute little shop. A simple little dream of making beautiful cakes and helping people have memorable parties. How could he drag you into his life? Missions. Danger. Looking over your shoulder. </p><p>He’d planned to make you breakfast. Give you a Gatorade and some Tylenol. But. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. Because if he stayed, he’d get you killed. It was better to break your heart now. Because if he hurts you now, maybe he can keep you alive. So, he wiggles out from under you, swallowing the burning feeling in his throat as he fumbles into his pants. </p><p>“Bucky?” you murmur, clutching the sheet to your chest as you sit up.</p><p>“Hey, doll face,” he murmured, “I gotta go… Duty calls, you know?”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Bucky felt his heart twist unpleasantly. You looked disappointed. Groggy, but decidedly sad that he was going. It made him want to scoop you into his lap and let you go back to sleep against his chest. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he said, stealing a kiss before pulling on his shirt.</p><p>“You promise?” you murmur. </p><p>“I promise,” he answered, slipping quickly out of your bedroom.</p><p>_______</p><p>Bucky slipped back into the compound with his tail between his legs and kept his head down. He felt like a cad. Like a heel. It hurt, and it hurt worse, knowing that he was going to hurt you. </p><p>You were such a good girl. He’d wanted you to be his good girl. </p><p>“Rough date?” Steve asked, watching Bucky snatch a bottle of water out of the fridge. </p><p>“No,” Bucky said, exhaling slowly. “She was great. Baked me a cake… even if she burnt it when I distracted her.”</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve said, giving him a look.</p><p>Bucky smiled a little, “It’s a new time, Stevie,” he snorted.</p><p>“Still,” he said, “It’s rude to love a girl and leave her.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bucky snorted. </p><p>“Are you gonna call her?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Nope,” Bucky said calmly, not looking at Steve. </p><p>“Buck,” Steve said, frowning.</p><p>“I’m not dragging her into my life, Steve. It’s too dangerous. She’s a baker, not a spy. Or a soldier.”</p><p>Steve sighed, “Buck. You can’t just disappear on her.”</p><p>“Who’re you ghosting?” Sam asked, walking around the corner.</p><p>“The cake girl,” Steve answers. </p><p>“Aww, man!” Sam groused, “Please don’t ghost the cake girl. Her stuff is amazing.”</p><p>“I’m not ghosting her,” Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p>“Did you sleep with her?” Sam asked, pouring his juice.</p><p>“Yes,” Bucky answered, blushing. </p><p>“Are you gonna call her?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then you’re ghosting her,” Sam said simply.  There was no judgment. It was just a simple statement of fact. </p><p>“Look,” Bucky said, feeling defensive. He didn’t understand why Steve and Sam didn’t get why he didn’t want to drag you into this life. “If I don’t call her, she can get with someone less…”</p><p>“Grumpy?” Sam supplied.</p><p>“Dangerous,” Bucky sighed.</p><p>“Oh come on,” Steve said, “She’s a good girl.”</p><p>“And that’s why she doesn’t need to be with me,” Bucky said, shrugging. </p><p>Sam rolled his eyes, “C’mon.” he groaned, “This isn’t some bullshit teen drama. That self-loathing crap has got to stop.”</p><p>“Agreed,” Steve added. </p><p>Bucky sighed, “It’s not self-loathing. It’s practical… I mean. What if we had kids or something?”</p><p>“Oh no,” Steve snorted, “A normal life with a cute kid that bakes cakes and some cute kids with freckles. What an awful fate.”</p><p>“I spent 70 years killing people,” he said, “You don’t get a normal life after that.”</p><p>“You can if you find the right girl,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “And you’re not gonna know if she’s the right girl unless you quit acting like an ass and call her.”</p><p>Bucky doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really know what to say. He knows that not calling you is rude. He knows you deserve better. A lot better than what he’s about to do. But he needs to protect you. You deserve the white picket fence things. A spouse. Some kids. A nice little business. And he couldn’t give you that. He wasn’t the marrying kind. He just had to let you be mad at him. Maybe if you were mad at him he could keep you from pining or something. </p><p>Get you to flirt with someone else and find someone to keep you happy. Someone that you could bake cute cakes for and have giggly sex with. Someone you could fall asleep with every night and not have to worry about anything with. </p><p>Someone who could take care of you. And handle you being bratty when the mood struck. </p><p>He walked out of the kitchen shaking his head. You needed someone… better. Normal. And this was the way to get you that. He just had to avoid you a little while. Just long enough to make sure that you’d never be interested in him again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky walked into the commons from the training room and froze. Pepper was standing in the middle of the chaos of Ovens and counters being rearranged and a wall of ingredients and other things being erected. Her arms around Tony’s neck and kissing his cheek, “This is going to be the best. Birthday. Ever!”</p><p>Tony’s cheeks colored, and he kissed her head fondly, “Well, given your obsession with Cake wars, the only option could be to have a cake made here so you could see it in real-time.”</p><p>“Who’s gonna make the cake?” Steve asked, inspecting the shelf of ingredients.</p><p>“I called the girl over at Ladybug Lane,” Tony explained, “She already knows what we like, and we already know her stuff is the bomb.”</p><p>Steve caught Bucky’s eye over Tony’s head just in time to see Bucky cringe. It had been three weeks of radio silence and Bucky... Bucky felt like an asshole. For a couple of days, you’d sent him a couple funny pictures. And a picture of a neat cake you’d made. But Bucky never responded, and so you’d also gone silent, evidently taking the hint. But that didn’t mean that Bucky stopped paying attention to your social media. You’d dyed your hair and had been in photos with friends and a couple... pretty attractive men. Bucky would be lying if he said that didn’t rankle, but. You hadn’t said ANYTHING about Bucky on social media. Not the date, not sleeping together, not him ghosting you. Nothing. Not a peep.</p><p>Tony followed Steve’s line of sight to see Bucky trying and failing not to look guilty. “Well,” Tony drawled, “That is the face of a man who slept with someone he shouldn’t.”</p><p>“I- uh,” Bucky felt his face heat and coughed, “I don’t know about ‘shouldn’t’ have.”</p><p>“But he did Ghost her,” Sam said disapprovingly from a ladder where he was putting up balloons.</p><p>“Bucky, you didn’t,” Pepper said, tutting. </p><p>“I- uh,” Bucky looked away, “I gotta go.”</p><p>“Wait, I wanna know who you ghosted!” Tony yelled at his back. </p><p>Steve and Sam traded a look, and Pepper quirked an eyebrow, “You two know something-” She trailed off and stomped her foot eyes widening, “HE GHOSTED MY CAKE DECORATOR!”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said, hanging his head, “Big time.”</p><p>“The asshole,” Pepper said, honestly offended on your behalf before turning to look at Tony, “What are we gonna do? We can’t cancel the contract this short a notice, and we can’t get another baker, either.”</p><p>“Well, I mean. It’s Cake Wars. She’s bringing an assistant... We’ll just pay her extra and hope she doesn’t make a scene,” he said.</p><p>“She’s not gonna make a scene,” Pepper said confidently, “She’s never even acknowledged that you’re flirting with her.”</p><p>“Fair point,” Tony said, nodding, “But I still think we should pay her more.”</p><p>______________</p><p>When you arrive with your assistant and your niece, Bucky, takes care to keep himself out of sight. You’re here to work. Not to deal with him. So he tries. But, he can’t seem to stay away. The kitchen is where the most interesting action is. He likes watching you teach Sara the ins and outs of working under pressure. Watching you build a massive cake. And the cake pops. And decorations. It made him happy in a weird way. </p><p>By the time you were done, he knew you were pointedly ignoring him. And that stung but, he knew he deserved it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t find himself edging closer. </p><p>“Sara,” you call over to where she was explaining cake pops to Steve, “C’mon sweetpea, I gotta get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”</p><p>“Aww, Auntie-” she starts.</p><p>“Don’t Auntie, me,” you scold fondly, “Get ya stuff and get moving. You have school tomorrow!”</p><p>The intrepid 10-year-old pouts prettily and slides off the stool to go get her things. You shake your head and fumble for your own purse, anxious to be gone before anything more awkward that Bucky staring at you. You aren’t sure why. He made it abundantly clear that all he wanted was a one night stand and nothing else. Which was fine. Except he lied to you about it. You may not have expected him to call you after, but he’d promised. </p><p>Literally promised. </p><p>And you hated being lied to. If you wanted to be lied to, you would have stayed with your ex-husband and let him treat you like a mushroom. Keeping you in the dark and feeding, you shit. </p><p>You crouch down to carry Sara on your back and start walking forward when she finds you again, and Bucky feels a dull ache in his chest. You hadn’t even looked at him. Let alone tried to talk to him, </p><p>He took a deep breath and half jogged after you, taking advantage of everyone’s distraction, “Y/N,” he called, “wait!”</p><p>“Wait for what?” you ask primly, “A phone call?”</p><p>You don’t turn, but your steps slow to a halt. “” I-I- I was busy,” he said, acutely aware of the kid that was staring him down.</p><p>“That’s a shame. Because now I’m going to be busy for a long time,” you tell him, eyes narrowing.</p><p>“Yeah!” Sara added, not understanding, but totally down to be helpful.</p><p>“Well,” Bucky tried hesitantly, “Maybe I could swing by the bakery one day.”</p><p>“I haven’t been around the storefronts much,” you say, “Been working on getting a west coast shop.” </p><p>Bucky whistled, “That’s. That’s impressive,” he said. </p><p>“Thank you,” you say politely, but you’d really like to fall through a crack in the floor.</p><p>“I- I should let you go,” he said, looking away.</p><p>“Yeah,” you say, “I should get Sara home for bed.” And you don’t linger. There is no discussion of phone calls. You just head towards your car. </p><p>“I think he likes you,” he heard Sara say. </p><p>“I think you’re ten and you think every boy likes me,” you answer, snorting. </p><p>“That’s because you're pretty and they do,” she says. And Bucky can’t help but agree</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Buck, you ghosted her,” Steve reminded. </p><p>“I know,” Bucky growled. He was tired of the moralizing. He knew he didn’t have any right to be mad. None at all. But knowing you were dating someone else, that you’d been on three dates with him, was infuriating. </p><p>Not because you were doing it, but because he knew. HE KNEW, the guys you were dating weren’t good enough for you. At best, they were stupid. At worst, they were just after your money. But he was tired of hearing about how much he fucked up. Sam, Steve, Nat… Hell. Tony and Clint. They were all riding his ass, trying to get him to call you. Or something.</p><p>Bucky tossed his phone away from him, and Steve frowned, “So instead of being just friends, you’re gonna let your ego get in the way, huh?”</p><p>“She wouldn’t talk to me,” Bucky reminded, “Not at the party and not now.”</p><p>“Buck, she had a kid with her. It’s not like she had time to discuss your one-night stand and her feelings about things,” Steve snorted. </p><p>Bucky nodded, scowling at his phone. He hoped, whoever this new guy was, he’d bother to find that little spot on the inside of your thigh that made you giggle. Or the little spot just below your right ear that made you melt into a puddle. A needy puddle. Putty in his hands. The thought made his lips twitch a little, involuntarily. He knew you’d been tipsy, just a little. But he didn’t doubt you’d be just as exciting without a bottle of wine. </p><p>He doubted this was love. </p><p>It couldn’t be love. Not really. But it was something. And his heart twisted viciously. He hated that he hurt you, Maybe it wasn’t love, but he cared about you. You looked at him like he was anyone else on the street. No fear of his reputation. Not fear of what he could do. You’d let him into your house and offered to make him a cake. It had been cute. It was comfortable.</p><p>Steve watched the expressions that crossed Bucky’s face. And for a moment, he looked like his old self. Reminiscing about the girl he’d been with the night before. Details he’d never given to Steve but kept to himself. Things Steve actually knew about now. Things he’d not ever dreamed of before. He left the table and left Bucky to it. He left him to think and hoped that his current train of thought would lead to him being less stupid. </p><p>________</p><p>Bucky walked into the shop and took a deep breath. It smelled so good. It was soothing. But seeing you had set his heart to racing. Nerves jangled his hands, and he swallowed hard. </p><p>It was almost closing time. And he knew you weren’t expecting anyone to come through the door as you loaded the day-old pastry into the boxes. Your head jerked up, looking towards the door, and Bucky froze. Like a deer in the headlights. You’d gone from your polite “customer service” face to just. Shut down. No emotion whatsoever. </p><p>“What can I do for you, Bucky?” you ask quietly. </p><p>“I just wanna talk,” Bucky said, holding his hands out placatingly, “I thought going to your house was a step too far. But you won’t answer your phone so… This was. This was all I could think of.”</p><p>You sigh and turn back to your work, “Talk about what? You made your intentions pretty clear when you lied to me.”</p><p>“Lie-” he starts, but you cut him off with a gesture. </p><p>“You promised you’d call,” you remind him, “And you said you had to go to work… Well, if that’s the case, it was a short fucking mission given that literally, everyone had you in the background of their Snapchat I got sent.”</p><p>Bucky winced, “I- I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What I don’t understand,” you continue, “Is why. If you just wanted a one night stand, all you had to do was say something. It could have ended there, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”</p><p>“Y/N,” he said, cringing, “I- I didn’t want just the one night. I still. I mean.” he felt his cheeks color, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I really- I meant to make you breakfast.”</p><p>“So what happened?” you ask. </p><p>“I-” Bucky took a deep breath, “I was trying to protect you.”</p><p>“From what?” you snort.</p><p>“From me,” he said softly, “From people that would hurt you because of me.”</p><p>“Why would anyone give a shit about me?” you ask. </p><p>“Because you’d be a weakness. Someone to use to hurt me… Someone they could exploit to make me be… what I was.”</p><p>“By that logic, you shouldn’t talk to anyone ever because with a martyr complex that size, they could use anyone to hurt you,” you tell him, handing him a cookie and the last of the coffee. </p><p>“Probably true,” Bucky said nodding, “But if someone hurt you…”</p><p>“If someone hurt me, I’m a big girl who knew what I was getting into,” you tell him.</p><p>“My life is dangerous,” he said.</p><p>“And I could be mugged on the train home for the money out of the tip jar,” you sigh, “Look. Everything is dangerous. I could burn my face off on a pot tomorrow. My shop could burn down. I could get hit by a bus. I could die at least 18 different ways just from here to my house. And none of them would have anything to do with you.” You stop and smile a little, “It’s a little egotistical of you to assume I don’t have enemies of my own.”</p><p>“Is that so?” he said. He can’t help but smile a little, “You steal someone’s recipe?”</p><p>“And maybe a boyfriend or two,” you snort.</p><p>“That I believe,” he teased, “A real homewrecker you are.” It felt right, teasing you. Eating a cookie and just being in this space. Comfortable. He liked it and was even more irritated at himself for not doing this sooner. He watches as you hand off the pastry you didn’t sell today and sips his coffee. </p><p>“Y/N?” he asks.</p><p>“Yeah?” you answer, not looking up from where you’re putting things in your safe to take care of in the morning. </p><p>“Can I walk you home? It’d be a shame if you died before I got a chance to make it up to you.” He holds his breath. He expects you to tease him. To look up at him and say something snarky. But you don’t. Instead you shift uncomfortably. Like he just caught you doing something you shouldn’t.</p><p>“Bucky I-” You break off and exhale slowly, “That’d be really sweet of you but I can’t… I have a date. He’s going to be here any minute.”</p><p>“Oh,” he says, forcing himself to smile, “Well. That’s cool.”</p><p>“I’m sorry-” He shakes his head and you stop. His chest hurts, but it isn’t your fault. You thought he wasn’t interested and moved on. Like a normal person. </p><p>“No,” he said, “It’s fine… I should probably get going anyway. Steve is going to have a lot of lecturing to do.” He smiles and leans over the counter to kiss your cheek, “Call me sometime,” he said, “We’ll get some coffee you didn’t have to make me.”</p><p>“I’d like that,” you murmur, feeling like you did something wrong as you watch him walk away, nearly colliding with your date on his way out the door.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a bad date. But not the worst one you’d ever been on, you reflect as you drop your shoes just inside the door. At least it had been short. </p><p>And he’d only hinted that you should make his sister’s wedding cake “for exposure” once. He’d blanched and looked uncomfortable when you casually mentioned having to check and make sure you weren’t baking for a Stark party.</p><p>“Exposure my ass,” you thought, satisfied. The face in the mirror hung in your hall looked tired. Really tired, but then. That wasn’t a surprise. You worked all day and went out with this asshole instead of coming home to curl up in your jammies. </p><p>Still, as you took pins out of your hair, you wondered if it was all worth it. How much longer you could do nothing but work, sleep, and date idiots. It was true, you didn’t really see yourself with kids. You liked kids fine, as long as they didn’t live in your house. That was, in fact, your favorite thing about every kid that you met. They didn’t have to come home with you. </p><p>You wanted more, but then, what did more really even mean? Did you want a steady boyfriend? A house? A new shop? A car? A dog? There was a piece missing, but fuck if you knew what that piece was. All you could definitively say is that the guy you’d gone out with tonight was decidedly NOT it. </p><p>Sure, he’d looked pretty. And he was a smooth enough talker. But it became clear pretty quickly that he was less than interested in you and more interested in what you could do for him. And that had been disappointing. Very disappointing. </p><p>You padded into the kitchen and helped yourself to the wine in your fridge, sustaining anything so civilized as a glass. One perk of living alone, you supposed, taking a pull from the bottle. There wasn’t anyone to judge you for not using any of the cups in your kitchen. You stood in the kitchen, in the dim light from the hood over the stove. It cast an eerie glow over everything, casting strange, distorted shadows. It wasn’t much, but it was home. It was yours. A space that you’d carved out. And even with the longing for something more, it was satisfying. </p><p>It was a long way from your grandma’s kitchen. From being the punching bag, physically and emotionally, for your parents. From being your sisters’ scapegoat. </p><p>And there was a peace to it, however hard-won. And you’re glad that for whatever reason, when Micah’s wife left him with a newborn, that the first person he’d called was you. Not Lena, not Tara. The two logical people to call. The people who knew what to do with babies. But he called you. And you’d come. Because Micah just sounded terrified. And because Sarah’s wailing in the background had broken your heart. </p><p>So.</p><p>You sold your shop and caught the first flight to New York. Gambling the last gift your grandmother gave you. Because you couldn’t just leave the two of them to struggle alone.And now? At almost 28, almost a decade later, you didn’t have any regrets. Sarah was growing up, fearless and beautiful. Micah was dating again. And as happy as you were that they were coming into their own, you wondered where that left you. And what you were supposed to do when they didn’t need you anymore. Because that day was coming. And as great as work was, you knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Not at the end of the day when your phone didn’t ring in the middle of the night with a nightmare. Or a Fever. Or an impromptu work emergency. When Sarah had someone else to call “mom” on accident and Micah didn’t need someone to cook Thanksgiving. </p><p>You shook that thought out of your head and took another pull from the bottle of wine, mentally smacking the back of your hand. You knew better than to think about that. You knew better. Wallowing didn’t do you any good. You just... you needed to accept that this was coming. Because you knew it wasn’t ever meant to be permanent. That One Day, they’d both move on. So now, maybe it was your turn to move on too.</p><p>The trick was going to be finding out where to go.</p><p>___________</p><p>“That’s rough,” Sam said, taking a drink of his beer. </p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky said softly. “But, that’s what I get, I guess.”</p><p>“Stuck in the friend zone,” Sam gutted, “At least there’s the cake?”</p><p>Bucky snorted, “Yeah. I guess.”</p><p>It had taken a lot of self-control to avoid stalking your social media. He wanted to know if you said anything about your date. If he’d gotten to sleep with you. That thought made him feel gross. Because he knew that guy didn’t deserve the pleasure. </p><p>Steve took a sip from his glass of whiskey and sighed, “There’s worse than being friends. She could have refused to talk to you... I probably would have.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re a prude,” Clint teased.</p><p>“Also true,” Sam added.</p><p>That made Bucky smile a little. It was satisfying to have other people to ride Steve’s ass about all his Catholic Guilt. It really was.</p><p>It was also nice because the ensuing squabble gave him time to pull out his phone and send you a text. </p><p>how was your date?</p><p>He considered adding emojis, but they all looked wrong. Or creepy. Or insincere. He didn’t know how Millenials managed to make this bullshit work. It was irritating. But still, he settled in to wait. He figured he wouldn’t hear back until morning at the earliest. Noon or after if you had some drinks with dinner.</p><p>____________</p><p>When your phone chimes, you set down your bottle of wine and pull it out of your pocket. And smiled a little. </p><p>Sure. He ghosted you, but at least he was pretty. And he’d been apologetic about doing it. </p><p>Terrible, honestly.</p><p>You push send. There was no point in lying about it. And if you were gonna make the friend thing work, you were going to have to tell him the truth. Or at least parts of it.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky read the text message you sent and smiled a little. He wondered what constituted a bad date in this time. Did it mean that he didn’t pay for things? Did it mean he slobbered on you when he kissed you good night?</p><p>How bad, doll?<br/>He wanted to know. He was curious. And also glad to be talking to you again. And... he was sad to say it but. He was happy it was a bad date. It meant he still had a chance.</p><p>Bad.<br/>A one-word reply. That made him wince. If it were that bad, he thought maybe he should leave you alone. But if he didn’t reply, wouldn’t that make it worse?</p><p>He hesitated for a second, staring at his phone. He wished he were face to face with you, so he could gauge what to say a little better. Or at least talking on the phone so he could hear if there was a smile in your voice. But, that wasn’t how this was going. Like most of the young people this day and age, you hated talking on the phone. It irritated you. “Don’t call me,” you had told him, that night in your kitchen, “I will watch the phone ring then text you and ask you what you wanted.”</p><p>So he ignores the impulse to call you. And texts you again instead. </p><p>How bad is bad?<br/>He waited. Trying to be patient. But he wanted to just call you. He wanted to hear your voice. </p><p>I mean. He tried to get me to make his Sister’s wedding cake. For free... No not free. “For exposure”<br/>Bucky stared at the text message and snorted. He could practically hear the sarcasm in your voice. But that doesn’t stop him crinkling his nose. after he thinks about it for a second. That’s gross. That’s really gross. </p><p>Did he really think that would work?<br/>Presumably<br/>I’m sorry doll.<br/>And he was. He really was. You were talented. Very talented. And smart. And kind. You deserved to be on dates with guys that appreciated that. Not guys like this asshole that just wanted free cake. </p><p>It’s not your fault, Bucky.<br/>That makes his heart lurch a little. Because as far as he’s concerned, it is. He let you go and you wound on this crappy date. </p><p>If it helps.  I had a girl spend a whole date asking me if I remembered killing JFK.<br/>He hopes that makes you laugh. Dark humor is a thing you enjoy. He knows that too. The things on your bookcase gave it away. </p><p>Holy shit. What?<br/>Yeah<br/>Okay, wait. But do you?<br/>That time he really could hear you laughing. You hadn’t wanted to hurt him, he knew. But he did know you were teasing him. And for once, he didn’t mind the question, because he was willing to bet, the answer wouldn’t change anything for you. You’d never looked at him as anything other than a person. Even when he’d hurt you. There hadn’t been any thought of hurting him back, just keeping your distance. </p><p>Buy me a coffee tomorrow and I’ll tell you<br/>Ooo, deal.<br/>Then it was his turn to smile.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bell above the door rang and Bucky loped into the shop. His boots scuffing the tile were loud. At least to him but he tried not to look around self consciously. Behind the counter, Sarah was looking bored and idly tapping a pencil against her book. It made Bucky smile a little. The shop was empty, mostly. The little tables only had one other occupant. A little old lady enjoying a cookie and a cup of coffee. </p><p>It seemed, the cold and damp outside were keeping a lot of people away. Not that Bucky could blame them. It made his shoulder ache and where is metal arm joined to his flesh, it burned slightly. The weight of the arm more noticeable than it might be otherwise. </p><p>“Hey, kid,” he said smiling a little. </p><p>“Hey,” she said, “Can I help you?”</p><p> “Yeah,” he said pulling out his wallet, “Can I get a snickerdoodle and some coffee?” He knew it was all delicious. And that your cakes were the best, but really he was here to try and get you to get a coffee with him... and while he didn’t doubt Sarah could handle something more complicated he figured he’d cut her some slack. </p><p>She was up off her stool and working on his order in a flash, asking about room for cream and sugar as she filled his cup. Bucky answered that just black was fine and nodded to himself. You had her well trained. She was chipper. And efficient. A good combination for a kid running a storefront. </p><p>“Is your Aunt around?” he asked handing her the five and change before putting a few singles into the tip jar. </p><p>“She’s in the back,” Sarah said nodding, “She’s making cupcakes.”</p><p>“Cupcakes huh?” he asked, “Sounds important.”</p><p>“It’s a bakery,” she said, blinking at him slowly.</p><p>Bucky grins. You’d given him that same look before. It was funny then, and it’s funny now. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said, taking his coffee.</p><p>The bell on the door behind him rings and he steps out of the way going to take a seat at a table. </p><p>“Dad!” Sarah said, “You’re early.”</p><p>The man, Bucky notes, is tall. Tall and muscular but built slender. Blonde with green eyes. And he could pick out a few similarities in facial structure. And your eyes. That filled in a few pieces for him. </p><p>“Well yeah,” he said, walking easily around the counter to hug his daughter hello, “I missed my girls... Where is Y/N?”</p><p>“Baking, duh... She and Lanie are doing a party tomorrow,” Sarah said.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” he said nodding, “... You wanna go get her for me? Maybe remind her that it’s her birthday and she should probably NOT be making her own birthday cake. Again.”</p><p>Sarah giggled and flounced off back to the back, off to go deliver her messages and Bucky watched your brother help himself to a cup of coffee while he took up the post his kid had vacated. Bucky briefly considered going to introduce himself but, he wasn’t sure if that was acceptable. You hadn’t even told him today was your birthday.</p><p>That bothered him. He would have at least brought you flowers, but the sound of your voice out of the back didn’t leave him much time to ponder that.</p><p>“Micah,” you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron, “We talked about this. I told you I didn’t want a fuss.”</p><p>“And Sarah and I decided you needed a fuss,” He said folding his arms, “C’mon. Lanie and Ray can run the shop. It’s almost closing time anyway.”</p><p>“Pleeease,” Sarah pleaded, arms wrapping around your waist. </p><p>“If it’s my birthday shouldn’t I get a say?” you protest. </p><p>“Sorry,” Micah said, “You have a kid. Birthdays aren’t about you anymore.”</p><p>“Part-time kid,” You correct, ruffling Sarah’s hair affectionately.</p><p>“Fine, but I wanna change clothes first,” you sigh. </p><p>“Deal,” Micah said yawning, “It’ll give me time to finish my coffee.”</p><p>_____________</p><p>Bucky watched as Sarah dragged you out the door and smiled a little. He’d be lying if he said watching all that and not announcing his presence felt a little creepy but. He’d gotten good at laying low. And going unnoticed. </p><p>It was an underestimated ability, he decided. And that little piece of domesticity had both answered his questions and left him with more. He wanted to know. But first, he decided to send a text. He didn’t know if you’d answer it or not. Or if it crossed a line. But he couldn’t just not. Not now that he knew what the day was. </p><p>Happy Birthday, Doll.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You looked down at your phone and sighed, expecting another order. Another question, or another bullshit tinder message. You didn’t expect to see a message from Bucky. Let alone a birthday wish. </p><p>You hated your birthday. It wasn’t a day you necessarily wanted to celebrate because as far as you were concerned, the world would be a better place without you in it. But since you were here, you were gonna make the most of it.</p><p>Thank you<br/>You send back the polite thing to say. Because you know you should. Not because you want anyone to acknowledge the day. If you had your way you’d just hide in bed and wait for it all to be over.</p><p>But Sara is looking up at you expectantly. And she’d worked so hard on finding a present that was the best thing ever. And she made you a card. She’d even tried to help Micah make you a birthday cake. She wanted so badly for you to have a good day. And you loved her for it. Even if you wanted to to strangle Micah for spilling the beans about you having a birthday and not, in fact, being a test tube baby. A clone the government wanted to keep a secret. </p><p>It was going to be a long night and you already couldn’t wait for it to be over. Still, as you half listened to Micah conspiring with Sara in the kitchen, it wasn’t all bad. At least your sisters and your parents were a couple thousand miles away. That was helpful. It had been almost a decade and you were still glad to be away from there. And your ex. Thinking of him made you cringe. It had only been 5 years away from him. And you wondered how you’d gotten so far from the path that you’d started on. </p><p>The pretty little house. The kids. A thriving little store with no competitors to sneak of... and. Well. Quiet desperation. A yearning. You felt it before you’d even ticked half the boxes. </p><p>Your phone chimed gently and you picked it up again.</p><p>Got any big plans tonight?<br/>You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. How honest could you be with someone you’d slept with that ghosted you? And how much would Bucky actually want to hear about all of your personal angst? If he was anything like anyone else you slept with they probably were just after fun and maybe a cupcake on the way out the door. Which was honestly fair. Because you didn’t typically want anything else either. </p><p>Sara made me a cake. So. We’re gonna try it... Pray for me. She’s still figuring out how to crack eggs.</p><p>You hope that makes him smile. It’s honest, but hopefully not honest enough that he figures out that you have feelings one way or the other. </p><p>She’s had a good teacher. It should be okay. Is it just family night or do you want some company later? ;)<br/>You frown at your phone and sigh. So that’s it. Booty calls. Or at the very least casual sex sometimes. You weren’t opposed to those arrangements. They were convenient. And they scratched an itch from time to time. But somehow, you expected some pretend romance for your birthday. Or some kind of preamble. Pursuit. </p><p>Maybe not tonight. Sara’s talking about spending the night.</p><p>Under normal circumstances, you’d not even mention Sara. Most of them had never heard her name. Let alone had a conversation with her. And Bucky had managed to talk to her twice. You shut your phone off after that. You didn’t need the distraction and you didn’t need a big brother lecture either. Just because he swore off dating until Sara was in high school at least didn’t mean you had to. And as you heard scuffling footsteps on the kitchen tile, you looked up and forced yourself to smile. It was time to blow out the candles.</p><p>____________</p><p>Bucky looked at your answers and sighed. He got the distinct impression that you were less than thrilled he was talking to you. Or maybe it was the day. He thought of the conversation you had had with Micah before leaving the shop. You hadn’t seemed to want to celebrate at all. Maybe it was an age thing. He wasn’t really sure how old you were. Only that you were about his age. Definitely closer to 30 than 20. Maybe you were turning 25 again and getting sad about it. </p><p>But then, you didn’t seem to be that kind of girl. You were too secure. You hadn’t even been mad that you thought he wanted a one night stand. You’d been irritated that he hadn’t just been honest with you. That had surprised him. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little hurt by your answer. At least. At least until he scrolled back up.</p><p>It made him want to smack himself in the face, throw his phone out the window and never text anyone again. </p><p>do you want some company later ;) ?</p><p>It sounded like he was propositioning you. </p><p>“Jesus Fucking Christ, Bucky.” He groaned and thudded his head against the steering wheel of his car. It was no wonder you were irritated sounding. You were already less than happy about your birthday and then he just... did that. </p><p> Semi Colons were the devil. And he felt like an asshole.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bucky,” Nat sighed, handing him back his phone.</p><p>“I know but-”</p><p>“No seriously, just. How? How can you be THIS dense?” she asked. “I know it’s hard to gauge tone over text but. It’s also abundantly clear even when you see her in person that she’s got some complicated feelings about you, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn’t blame you, either. You hadn’t expected him to love you. But you had expected a certain measure of honesty. And straight out of the gate, he had shown himself untrustworthy. </p><p>“Fucking really, Bucky,” she said, “How... well. Frankly it’s disgusting. I mean. There’s no way that ‘Thank you’ meant please keep talking about this.”</p><p>“But I just... I didn’t even know it was her birthday until her Brother showed up at the shop,” Bucky protested, “I was trying to fix it.”</p><p>“Fix what exactly?” she asked.</p><p>Bucky felt his cheeks color and sighed, “After we slept together, I told her I’d call her. And might have told her I was leaving for work.”</p><p>“Might have?” Natasha asked, quirking an eyebrow. </p><p>“I did,”‘ Bucky admitted, exhaling slowly. </p><p>Natasha gave him a level look and Bucky cringed, “And then I was in the back of a bunch of snap chat stories.”</p><p>“Bucky,” she frowned. </p><p>“I know,” he said, “I know.”</p><p>“Do you?” she asked.</p><p>“I’m starting to... When did dating get so complicated?” Bucky asked. </p><p>“Sometime after women getting the vote and before smart phones,” Natasha said wryly.</p><p>Bucky glanced down at his silent phone and took a deep breath. He knew he needed to bite the bullet and talk to you. He needed to apologize properly. With flowers and dinner. Probably poems and maybe like diamonds or something. Was that a thing one did to apologize? He didn’t know what he felt for you. Something more than lust but less than love. A strange area of feeling that he hadn’t had to navigate for 70 years. Those spots with sweet girls that made him laugh and made his heart skip several beats. Pretty, soft girls with steel cores that drew him in. That he wanted to fuck stupid but then talk to for hours. He didn’t know how to define it then and he didn’t know how to define it now. </p><p>He knew that he wanted you. He had a fondness for plush curves. It was comfortable to be between your thighs. And comfortable standing in your kitchen listening to lectures about the different kinds of buttercream and the importance of using proper flavors to pull together the best cake. He couldn’t explain why that was so comfortable standing in your kitchen. The running stream of chatter. The clink of wine glasses on the counter. The hum of a mixer. The smell of baking cake. It was just... right. Different kinds of right that had made him feel, okay. It made the last 70 years less significant. All the death and pain faded and instead of being an open wound, it all felt like more of a scar. It felt bearable. And he knew that it hurt him in an entirely different way. Because you were too good for him. If you had secrets they would never be as black as the ones that painted what he remembered.</p><p>Natasha watched him across the table. She knew that he hadn’t meant to get in this deep. He struck up a conversation with a cutie on a balcony. He’d thought to have a little fun and leave with some nice little memories. And now he was more confused than he’d been before.</p><p>“Bucky,” she said, “Call. Her.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“Texting gets you in trouble,” Natasha snorted, “Just call her.”</p>
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